I hadn’t expected to see cyclists being ordered to dismount their bikes.

Not in a country renowned for its cyclists anyway.

Somehow we had managed to slip through a police cordon, unauthorised access allowing us to mingle with fluorescent jacketed police officers and avant-garde TV crews.

All eyes were on Restaurant Nimb, white façade, fairy lights, a red and white flag rolling in the breeze directly across the road from the main train station. Two helicopters above it suggested that someone famous was about to arrive.

But the aroma of French hotdogs, mustard, ketchup and fresh chopped onion got the better of our curiosity, two specimens chased down by the creamiest, coolest chocolate milk.

“Its nearly 7.30.”

We were running late, but still managed to make it to Tivoli’s main entrance on time.